


All Hail Yasha

by SMmoony18



Series: All Hail The Winteriron [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAMF Bucky Barnes, Bad Jokes, Bucky is not amused, Cake is good for your soul, Glitter, I Don't Even Know, Jarvis is tired of your shit, Madness, Payback, Prank Wars, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Tony Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Is Not Helping, What Was I Thinking?, so much glitter, unicorn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:05:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6087661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SMmoony18/pseuds/SMmoony18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Got idea from from this excerpt: </p><p>“I don’t know if that’s true. But . . . you’re okay in my book."</p><p>He blinked, then his lips quirked into a slow grin, crinkling around his eyes, “Be careful what you say.” Tony teased, “You haven’t seen the worst—or rather, the best of me. You’ll be eating your words in couple weeks.”</p><p>Yasha scoffed because he was aware he endured things far worse. Having Tony in his usual self didn’t alarm him at all. So far he liked what he saw. “I’d like to see you try.”</p><p>“You don’t believe me?” Tony watched him with amused curiosity that should be uncomfortable but somehow it wasn’t, still grinning, “I’ll give you two months, tops. Keep in mind I’m being generous.”</p><p>Yasha took that as challenge. “One month and no more, then you’re on.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Hail Yasha

A tic had been developed in past few days. A little spam under his right eye, throbbing uncomfortably, pulling all the orbital muscle that even his right eyelid and brow jerked in obvious pattern.

Yasha never had that twitch before in his life, he was sure of it. For one, he was professional assassin. His hand never shook when he gripped his long-range rifle as he peered down the scope before he gunned the targets down. He didn’t flinch when he saw blood arc in the air or shudder at the sound of bones cracking and the pleas of mercy. His heart didn’t stutter if someone aimed the gun at him.

But for some reason, he had that twitch in his eye and he knew who was to blame:

Tony Freaking Stark.

It was as if issuing the challenge made all the obnoxiousness, childish, eccentricities, assholery, everything that made Tony Stark to the very essence come into full effect.

Yasha didn’t have eidetic memory, but it was pretty close. He had a mental album that stored, cataloged and listed every time the man acted like an insufferable idiot. It was like watching in horror as defected KBG agent pressed the red button, purposely activating a Tsar bomb just to enjoy the horizon flashing and ballooning into mushroom of fire and destruction. All just for laughs.

Worst part was? He was it.

******

“Where’s your bed?” Tony glanced at the empty room, realizing, “Wait. Are you sleeping on the floor?”

Yasha opened his mouth to answer but Tony steamrolled him like a freight train.

“Why? What do you have against the bed? Too hard? Too cloudy for Frosty? You need a bed! This isn’t good for your back. Any soreness? Muscle spasms? Wait, I forgot—you don’t feel sore. Not with that voodoo juice pumping in your blood. Oh, that reminds me. Can we do more tests? This time I want to stick electrode in your pretty brain. Come on, science wait for no one!”

 _Twitch_.

*****

The plants in the enclosed garden had gone wild and need in trimming, he noted as he stalked around the perimeter of the Manor. Yasha looked up and he saw the light of the city towering above him, all lights and tall skyscrapers but he felt it did not belong there. Rather, he felt that he was stuck in a world he wasn’t supposed to be—a world that was filled with humans who looked human enough but they were alien to him, speaking in strange words, clinging their small devices and wearing strange clothes.

Worse, his body didn’t even feel like his own, it was as if it belonged to another. Sometimes he wondered if he was really alive or dreaming, unable to interact at his surroundings. He didn’t know what he was trying now, standing alone in the wild garden, and living at Stark Manor at his suggestion, working for him instead of obeying the commands without questions or complaints.

He had too many choices his hands and he wasn’t sure if he liked it.

A tremor on his feet cut his deep musings and for a moment he thought he had imagined it. He stared down at his feet, puzzled. Then it came again, on the ground. Yasha could feel the earth moving, rumbling beneath him as if a dragon woke up from a deep slumber.

Suddenly, it heaved and Yasha was thrown violently to the ground, staring as the dirt beneath began to tumbling, contorting and rolling as though it were the surface of a stormy ocean. It wasn’t natural. In fact it looked—

“Shit!”

Yasha stood, or at least he attempted to with the ground still heaving but Yasha managed to stumble on his feet. He bolted toward the Manor, shattering the French doors with a single jump, ignoring as the shards pricked his skin, nearly skidding when the floor abruptly banked viciously and he could feel the vibration shaking on his hand as he gripped the wall for support.

The hallway light shuttered and flickered ominously as Yasha ran, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of enemy infiltration but there was nobody there. Another lurch projected him from his feet but he held on tight the doorframe that led to the office, trying to cope with the queasiness. The shaking had intensified; the jolt was so severe that he couldn’t stand without the hold of the doorframe.

Then everything seemed to ground halt into stillness. The wall had stopped moving, the furniture desisted in its hideous rattling and the lighting resumed its usual brightness. 

He took a tentative step, prodding the floor, confident it was stable. Yasha exhaled and moved inside the office hurriedly, ignoring the toppled shelves and the disarray of yellowed documents on the floor. His hand itched for a gun as he rounded the corner but there was no time; he had to move, fast.

His mission was Stark.

At the end of the office there was a metal door and a keypad, which Stark gave an access to him even though Yasha never had been there before.  He quickly keyed it the code, anxiously waiting when the door whirred it open to reveal what in inside.

It was completely wrecked. Computers were cracked, shooting sparks, a 3-d hologram in the air shuttered. Tools were scattered on the floor, some lodging on the fissure crack that spanned into a pattern and in the center of the focal point was the contraption he was familiar of it, throwing smoke and hissing loudly.

Behind the contraption, Stark emerged, doused in soot, blinking at Yasha. Then he raised to his full height, beaming, spreading his arms, and crowing in delight, “Yasha!”

“What the hell happened here?”

Surprisingly, Tony looked as if he was facing a firing squad. He bent his shoulders, flushing in guilt, “Oops?”

Something clicked on his mind and Yasha couldn’t believe it.  He blinked—opened his mouth. Then closed it. Opened again, this time to say: “Tell me you’re not the cause of this.”

“I’m not the cause of this.” Stark parroted obediently but he didn’t sound convincing, not with the sheepish expression on his face.

“Stark.” He warned.

“You said you wanted me to tell you that!”

Yasha wanted to slam his head against the wall just to ignore the pressure in his chest and the desire to grab Stark with his bare hands to strangle him. His metal fingers whined at the force of the fist as he struggled to relax.

“Why.” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.

Tony looked at him as if Yasha was a slow child, “That’s should be easy to guess. I wanted to know how this device works. Took me awhile but I figured it out with a smashing success.” Somewhere in the end of the room, a fixture light collapsed with a dramatic spark. “Partly.” Tony amended with chagrined grin.   

“You could’ve asked me!”

His soot-face morphed into confusion and he shifted his gaze to the machine, “Hold on. You know this device?”

He looked at the device again, the one who was responsible splitting Stark’s Malibu house in half, “It’s Rūaumoko, type VI. It induces the stress lines to vibrate, hard enough to cause structure failure or trigger the fault lines.”

“Ooh, talk nerdy to me.”

His eyes twitched and Yasha nearly slapped his hand over it to stop it. Yasha took a deep breath, focusing to slow his heartbeat. It was fine. He felt himself ease into the calm, the flutter in his eyelid was smoothening.

Stark—in irritating fashion—pointed out, “Did you know that I can see the lovely vein in your forehead throbbing?”

_Twitch._

*****

The next few days Yasha counted as win. He hadn’t twitched so far since the induced earthquake fiasco. Although that didn’t mean Tony Stark was on his best behavior.

“Come on!” The man exclaimed as he stepped inside, frustrated, “This again? This place looks depressing. How you can live like this?”

Yasha shrugged, focusing piecing the parts of his rifle together.

“Get a bed. A lamp. A doll. A dog?”

“No.” He liked saying that word but sometimes he was afraid of punishment.

“Cat?”

“No.”

“Adorable hamster?”

“No.”

“You’re right. The hamster won’t survive a day here. Might die in heart attack for not having a place to live. Like a decorated cage.”

Yasha refused to sigh, slotting the firing pin inside the chamber of the rifle.  

“How about a bunny?”

*****

Yasha watched above, sitting on the ceramic tiles of the roof Manor that was high enough to view the surrounding below him.

He had the perfect sight of people, roaming the street like tiny ants. It was nice here if weren’t for the freezing wind and he felt chilled to the bones since he had been sitting for hours. His shoulder ached where the metal met his skin, stabbed like million pinpricks. He decided it was time to rest and bask in warmth of his place.

Deftly, he moved to the west side of the roof, near the edge, he somersaulted down to the balcony of his room, his feet thudding loudly on the floor and opened the door.

He froze.

There were nearly hundreds of furry rabbits of all different size inside, brown, white, black and grey covered every inch of the floor of his place. All small beady eyes looked up at Yasha’s presence, noses wiggling; their small furred bodies seemed to vibrate some unshed energy.

Oh fuck, Yasha felt his right eye move into that telltale muscle spam, like a butterfly beating against his eyelid.

“STARK!”

*****

There was agreement. Stark would take the rabbits away on one condition: to go furniture store. At first, Yasha had refused but with Tony cajoling, begging, pleading and negotiating, Yasha acceded reluctantly.

“My back hurts just looking at you.” Tony had said, “Look, you don’t have to buy anything. Just browse some things. You know, test the waters. You won’t be alone. I’ll be holding your hand if you need me to.”

But Yasha saw the fine print miles away and he argued, “You’re not going buy any of those furniture either.”

Stark pouted, “Fine.”

And that was that.

Except . . . Yasha was beginning to realize he regretted it. Outside was still too loud, too flashy with advertising and signs, too many stores, many fake smiles from the employees of the stores and suggestions. Too many options to choose.

“This is sectional.” Stark petted the fabric, “I like how it feels.” He plucked the plastic sign placed on the coffee table, “Weave linen. Mmm, I like it. What do think of it, Yasha?”

Yasha just grunted.

“That’s no, then.” Stark returned the sign to it usual place and they moved down the block.

Yasha didn’t know why Stark bothered to wander place with people in the busiest shopping district with too many building surrounding them. It left them vulnerable and open for enemies. Sniper could shoot them from sight. Agents cloaked as one of the crowd might plant poison easily with a touch of a skin and no one would be the wiser. But that if they went incognito mode. They were far crueler when unrestricted.

Stark paused a front store of another furniture, gazing through window, “Hey, this cabinet look good for storage weapons.”

Next to them was a mother holding a stroller with a fussy baby inside who was admiring the armchair on the window display sharply turned her head to eye at the shorter man, baffled.

“Look, it has rack. You can put M14 there without problem.” Stark pinned his face and hands on the glass to peer inside for better look. “Jackpot! It has tiny cubby holes drawers. Perfect for bullets. Or grenades!”

The mother balked as if struck, extracting slowly from their presence subtly as she could without alarming them but she noticed Yasha’s gaze, the mother’s pace went quicker, carefully pushing the stroller faster, disappearing around the corner.

Yasha could hear Stark chortle behind him, clearly aware of the situation. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply to stave the irritation, not wanting another twitch that exacerbated his annoyance. Some tics won’t go away for hours.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a little bakery across him and it had mouth-watering display of cake in the window. Yasha found he enjoyed the sugary artistry that went into the baked dessert, especially the layered chocolate cake with white frosting in between.

“They look delicious, don’t they? I like the yellow cupcake they got there.”

Yasha turned to look at Stark standing next to him, looking at the display. “I guess.”

“Come on. Let get some.”

But Yasha was walking down the street, enjoying the sputter of dying words coming from behind followed by reluctant footsteps of Stark at his heels.

*****

The next day, Yasha found his place covered in every variation of cakes propped in tables, pedestals, chandeliers and tiered stands in every imaginable flavors, candies, shapes, colorful frosting, sprinkled flakes and other sugary decorations Yasha couldn’t name. Cupcakes. Ball cakes. Cake pops arranged like flowers. Pie towers. Ice cream cake. Cheesecakes. Croquembouche. Few of them looked it was meant for a wedding or for seasonal and celebratory themes. There was dozen tall seven tier cake that towered about five feet, one that looked over seven feet that nearly touched the ceiling and so wide about the size of a love seat.

There was even a cake that featured some male and female parts, some apart, and some together. It was so obscene that Yasha couldn’t even look at them directly for more than a minute.

Wait. Was that _unicorn_ cake? Jesus Christ, was that rainbow coming out from the—

“STARK!”

*****

He would _die_ first before admitting to Stark but those cakes was freaking delicious. Especially the unicorn.  

*****

The next week was unusually peaceful. The Manor had been quiet, soothing all at once with the calm of mid-autumn approaching outside in burnished gold and red leaves and the brisk chill in the wind. It was satiation.

And it had Yasha on edge.

He had seen Tony pop in and out from his periphery, still with that impish grin before disappearing to his workplace but he hadn’t done anything since the cake incident but he knew the next attack was coming soon. He felt it like the calm before the storm and this time Yasha was prepared.

First thing he did was hoard the food and ammunition. Then, he barricaded his room. Set traps. Nailed his windows and air vents completely shut. Taped every gap that led inside, including the bathroom and the kitchen faucets—yes, he was _that_ paranoid. Lastly, he set a chair in the middle the room with a shotgun filled with bean bag rounds and he waited.

On the third day, there were footsteps, followed by a careful knocking at the door and Stark’s worried voice, “Hey, you okay? I haven’t seen you around for a while. JARVIS says you’re still here which it was good to know but it would’ve been nicer if it came from you.”

Yasha aimed at the door, holding his breath.

“You know this isn’t healthy and that’s coming from me.” Stark paused, maybe expecting for his reply but he resumed, “Just so you know, I’ll never forgive you for appointing me into worrywart. It’s supposed to be the other way around. Well . . . not exactly, considering your background but I shouldn’t be the sensible here, trust me. For one, it’s terrible. It makes my skin itch and finicky. Seriously, this was Pepper’s job.”

He exhaled softly, his finger poised on the trigger.

“Do me a favor, come out.” A beat. “Please?”

Silence.

“Okay. Another time then.”

Stark lingered but after three minutes Yasha heard footsteps move away, fading into the distance. He lowered his shotgun back to his lap and waited again.

 And waited.

And waited some more. . .

On the fifth day, Yasha admitted he was acting batty, not to mention he was bored to death and—he raised his armpit to sniff it only to recoil—oh yeah, he smelled too.  

“This is ridiculous.” He said to himself, dropping the shotgun to the floor before rubbing his face to chase the exhaustion away and slid off the chair to stretch out the kinks in his muscles.

Yasha managed to un-barricade the door and opened it to peer outside, checking on both sides. However, something waited for him at the hallway.

It was an assault rifle, propped on the wall but it wasn’t ordinary assault rifle. For one, he had never seen it before and he knew nearly every single weapon out there.

_“Mr. Yasha.”_

Startled, Yasha jerked back, nearly retreated to his room but paused, recalling Stark’s explanation of a computerized voice that used to enmesh Stark’s Malibu mansion—JARVIS, right?

“Yes?”

 _“Mr. Stark left you a message.”_ Yasha frowned, sensing that JARVIS was waiting for him to reply but he wasn’t sure what to say but Jarvis decided for him, _“Might I play for you?”_

“Okay.”

Stark’s recorded voice came into the hallway, chortling. _“May the best man win.”_

Something clunked on his right foot and Yasha looked down; he found three metal balls surrounding his feet, no bigger than a baseball ball and innocent looking.

“Aw, crap, I knew I should’ve stayed inside.”

The world exploded in colors.

He blinked his eyes open owlishly and saw tacky liquid of neon rainbows splattered into the floor, the doorframe and the ceiling like a blast radius. He looked behind and saw his place was saturated in pain in some garish nightmare of colors, his shotgun included. 

 _Twitch_.

Goddamn it, he couldn’t even protect his place this time.

 _“First Round: Sir: One. Yasha: Zero.”_ JARVIS’ voice came, his tone sympathetic.

He looked back at the assault rifle, dotted with colors and the muscle in his eyes jumped. The choice was obvious. Yasha yanked the assault rifle and went looking for Stark.

This means war.

*****

Somewhere in the Manor, a voice shouted in denial.

_“Second Round: Sir: Zero. Yasha: One.”_

*****

“You don’t mess with man’s precious hair! It’s sacrilegious!”  Tony shouted from stairs, his pink hair stood out like a sore thumb, translucent pink water dripped down his neck, his back and to the floor as he held the towel around his waist.

Yasha actually looked up and barked into a laugh but he stopped it suddenly with wide eyes and he didn’t know who was more surprised: Tony for hearing him laugh for the first time or Yasha to realize he was even capable of mirth.

*****

Tape duct.

Tape ducts everywhere. Every inch was covered in silver tape. Room, ceiling, kitchen, light fixtures. By the look of the bulky shape in the wall, his weapons and knives didn’t escape unscathed.  

_Twitch._

*****

“Pinch of salt, right?” Yasha asked, dropping the salt on the liquid chocolate in the saucepan, stirring carefully.

 _“Correct.”_ JARVIS replied. “ _Then add three drops of peppermint oil—”_

“YASHA!!”

The scream echoed from below and his hand froze, still holding the wooden spoon. Slowly, he smiled, chuckling and went back stirring.  

_“Do I need to know?”_

He remembered Stark had yet to install the cameras in the sub-level floor and JARVIS was pretty much in the dark. “I soldered the workplace’s door to the frame. It won’t open.”

There was a long moment of silence before JARVIS said, _“He’s not stuck inside, is he?”_

“Nah. Although, he won’t get inside for a while.”

JARVIS answered after a pause, _“This probably will not end well.”_

******

A lone man with a dog could be seen walking on an empty sidewalk, pausing near the tree under the streetlamp in the late night.

“Come on, boy.” He shivered, huddling in the coat, glancing at the house before him. It was truly gorgeous with authentic Georgian architectural details and he could see the house took the entire block.

His dog whined and the man sighed, “We didn’t come to the States to freeze my balls here. Can’t you just poop?”

Something popped loudly and the man paused, looked at the direction of the house just in time to see glass windows exploded outward and the dog let out a yelp while man recoiled in shock, instinctively rising his arms to cover himself against the flying shards followed by glitters gushing in the air.

The man coughed and sputtered, the air was thick of particles pink glitter, swirling and glimmering in the street lamp like diamonds. The man looked around in horror. Everything— _everything_ —was covered in glittering confetti. The tree, the leaves, the sidewalk, street, the parked cars were encrusted in pink sparkle.

So. Many. Glitters.

It was then he realized his dog wasn’t at his side. In fact, he could see his Labrador running down the street, the leash parting a long line in the sea of pink glitters and leaving a trail of paw of footprints.

“Not again!” The man shouted, running after him, “ _Fenton!”_

*****

“I’m done.” Yasha declared.

“That soon?”

“Yup.”

“Too bad. I was having fun.”

Iron Man dropped behind him, clunking his way to stand next to Yasha and saw he had rounded dozen men in varying stage of unconsciousness, secured in zip tie to the wrists and ankles in the lobby of what looked to be a warehouse.

“Guess that’s the last of them.” Iron Man commented.

“There are always others.”

As silence fell between them, he could feel Iron Man’s gaze probe into his face before he let out a modulated laughter that sounded at the edge of hysteria.

He turned to look at him, “What?”

Iron man had hand on his armored stomach as if clutching would help to stave the stitch there, then he pointed Yasha’s face, “You still have glitter in your face.”

Yasha scowled because no matter how he showered, washed and scrubbed the glitter would _not_ come off at all. “No thanks to you.”

“To be fair, I didn’t expect to explode like that. The explosion was five times more powerful than I calculated.” Iron Man rubbed his neck, clearly embarrassed, “If it helps to know, the joke is on me because you weren’t the only one who was caught in the blast. I’m still finding glitter in some places it shouldn’t be there.” Iron Man gestured his crotch.

A laughter escaped past Yasha’s lips and it never stopped to surprise him but he didn’t care. He liked it, liked it very much.

“Let not forget you set baby spiders on me while I was sleeping.” Iron Man shuddered; his hydraulics whirred, compensating the movement. “Brutal.”

“You deserved it, you twit.”

“Maybe.” He absolutely did, there was no doubt about it. “Truce?”

It took a second for Yasha to process what he said and when his brain caught up, he was immediately suspicious, “Why?”

“For the goodness of my heart?” At Yasha’s glare, he tried again, “No? Okay, I hate to admit it but I’m running out creative ideas.”

“Try again.”

“Fine. I’m busy.”

“Nope.” He crossed his arm, shaking his head, “It doesn’t fly.”

Iron Man made a noise of frustration, a mix of pissed, nervous and amused, “Can’t you just accept the truce and take what it is?”

The conversation was interrupted when one of the men groaned and Yasha booted him at the head, snapping him back to the unconsciousness, “First, can I ask you a question?”

“Fire away.”

“Why my place?”

Iron Man’s faceplate lifted, revealing a confused Stark, “You mean: why I targeted your place?” At Yasha nod, “Seriously? I told you this. I wanted to liven it a little.”

“With that stuff? Rabbits? Paints? Glitter? Just because you wanted to ‘liven’ it? ”

Stark chortled through his nose, “Actually, I put those stuffs so you’ll feel urged to buy some stuffs in order to avoid me putting stuff in your place in the first place.”

Yasha stared at him in abject confusion, “What?”

“Oh come on, you understood.”

“Stark, what you said didn’t even make sense.”  

“Yes, it did—”

“Gibberish, is what it sounded—”

“I wanted you go out and buy furniture!” Stark threw his hand up, exasperated.

“What?” He said again and wondered if he would ever understand Stark and he wasn’t sure if was just him being out touch or one Stark’s moment as oddball. Yasha opened his mouth to ask but he felt himself stop, something in his mind had slowed down and froze with a startling epiphany. He realized in his strange way, Stark’s action made sense in albeit circular and insane way. “Oh.”

“Now, you do get it.”

“Well, you could’ve said it.”  Yasha couldn’t believe he sounded petulant with his own ears.

Stark pulled a face at him, “I did. Repeatedly.”

He was right. Heck, he had shown few spot where to buy, rent furniture and Yasha wanted to hit himself for not getting it sooner before this madness ever started. Stark never said as such, at least not directly but Yasha was beginning to realize Stark wanted him feel at home and he wasn’t sure how to feel about this but that more than anything else made up Yasha’s mind for him.

“Okay, truce.”

Stark was taken aback, “What? Just like . . . that?”

Yasha actually had the nerve to roll his eyes, “Yes, just like that.” He responded easily.

“Huh. Okay. ” He said, shifting uncomfortably in the silence and clicked his faceplate shut, “See you at home?”

He felt himself smile, “Sure.”  He agreed, watching Stark trod to the exit, “Hey, Stark?”

Iron Man turned slightly, “Yeah?”

“Even at your worst, you’re not so bad.”

Stark looked incredulous, “Are you kidding me? I _terrorized_ you!"

Yasha snorted. “Sweetheart, your definition of terrorizing is different than mine. Though, it’s nice for you to try.”

“I nearly made you cry!”

“Don’t delude yourself. It was the glitter. Few of them got into my eyes.” He lied smoothly. “You’re still okay to me.”

*****

At the end of the month, Yasha asked a question.

“Hey,” He waited Stark’s head perk up to meet his eyes, “Can . . .” He nearly stammered but he plowed on like a ripping a Band-Aid on the wound, “Can we go out and pick some stuff?”

He would've laughed at Stark’s shocked expression if he weren't so nervous.  Stark's speechlessness it didn’t last long, his shock slowly replacing by a soft smile and a nod. "Sure."

Somehow, for strange reason, Yasha was unable to look away and smiled back.


End file.
